“Yes, I knew it,” she answered, and her voice grew tremulous also, while a look of horror dawned in her eyes. “You knew it!” he cried in wonder. “Then how have you had the courage to remain here alone?” “You do well to ask that question,” the poor girl cried out, bitterly. “You, Otho Maury, who have almost hounded me to death. Stay! do not advance one step nearer, or----” He drew back sullenly, and remained on the threshold facing her with his back to the dark corridor, while he said, pleadingly: “Floy, I followed you here with an honorable object. I love you madly. Will you become my wife?” “Never!” she answered, curtly, with measureless contempt that angered him to frenzy. “Take care how you scorn me, pretty Floy, for you are in my power, and I may take a terrible revenge for your contempt,” he exclaimed, advancing toward her, secure in his ability to disarm the weak, puny girl. “Heaven help me!” silently prayed the poor girl, bracing herself to drive home her weapon of defense into her assailant’s breast as soon as he came within reach. “If you come within reach, you are rushing on your death!” she cried, wildly. “Ha! ha!” he laughed, as at some pretty child, and made a rush sidewise, aiming to wrench away the weapon, and, in spite of her alertness, he grasped the middle of the arm that held the dagger. Like a flash, Floy transferred it to her other hand and struck out at random. But the keen blade went home, piercing the side of his neck through, and as the blood spurted into his face, blinding him with its hot waves, he relaxed his hold and fell dizzily to the floor. CHAPTER XXVIII. ANOTHER INTRUDER. Still grasping the bloody weapon, Floy looked down in terror at the body of her bleeding victim. “Oh-h-h! I have killed the mean coward, but--I couldn’t help it--I had to do it!” she exclaimed, bursting into hysterical sobs. “Bravo, miss, that was a brave deed! He deserved death; but if you had waited a minute longer, I would have killed him for you myself!” exclaimed an admiring voice, and a man who had been watching and listening in the corridor outside came hastily into the room. He was a stranger to Floy, but you and I, reader, know him as the clever detective who had been searching for our heroine for several weeks. Once he had decided that he would give up the hopeless quest, but his patron’s anxiety spurred him on to another effort. He returned to Mount Vernon, and when he heard the story of Floy’s spirit having been seen abroad on several nights, he conceived a suspicion that the missing girl might be hidden at Suicide Place, in spite of her assertion that she would never venture near the house again. Having no fear of ghosts, and laughing to himself at the idea of the place being haunted, he determined to search it for Floy. He went upon the quest the same evening that Otho did, and arriving some time later, went carefully round the house till he saw some gleams of light shining through the shutters.